


Offering

by ChrissiHR



Series: Offering [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Darcy Lewis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Phil Coulson, Caretaking, Claiming, Courtship, F/M, Gender Role Reversal, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Marking, Mating Rituals, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nesting, Omega Clint Barton, Role Reversal, Scent Marking, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR
Summary: Clint jerked his head towards the entryway in invitation with a small smile. “I’d be a dummy to turn down an offer like that.”Her eyes rounded. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean to invite myself into your bath, Clint!” But he caught the way she shuddered, fighting her Alpha instincts to care and fuss, lavishing him with affection and praise for a job well done.





	Offering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thestanceyg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestanceyg/gifts).



> Happy birthday, @thestanceyg!
> 
> Muchas gracias, @zephrbabe, for the quick beta work!
> 
> This story was inspired by this [fanart](https://chrissihr.tumblr.com/post/167302645198/when-it-rains-it-snows-comedy-tragedy-time) on tumblr. 
> 
> Suggested listening: "These Arms of Mine" by Otis Redding

“What?”

Clint stared dumbly down at the basket full of delicately scented bath goods, hand lotions, creams, healing balms, a pumice stone, something he was reasonably certain would be called a loofah, massage brushes and tools, and some balls the size of his fist wrapped in glittery purple plastic.

Darcy fidgeted, an unaccustomed habit for the usually unflappable Alpha who’d been courting Clint and his beta mate, Phil, since mid-summer. “Phil told me ages ago it was your birthday this weekend and you don’t like a lot of fuss—”

“I don’t mind fuss,” Clint rasped, his vocal chords still raw from the beating he endured during a marginally successful mission to rout out some of the mob activity in Brooklyn last night. Abrasions spanned the tanned skin from knee to shoulder on his bow side, knees, elbows, and hands covered in bruising and more abrasions, some fresh, some leftover from a scrape he didn’t quite manage to avoid the week before.

And two broken fingers on his draw hand still throbbed like an Omega in first heat.

He cleared his throat. “It’s just … with the job…” he trailed off, worried the truth might scare off the civilian Alpha. “With the job, I don’t share a lot of private details about my life. You know, with other people. It can be a security risk. I'm not... I don't ... get a lot of gifts.”

“Oh.” The tension broke and Darcy’s arms dropped, resting the basket against her hips. She rolled her lips and looked over the offering as if wondering if it was too much or completely unwelcome.

In the doorway to his shared apartment, Clint shifted forward, grabbing the handles from the Alpha—his Alpha. She _was_ his Alpha now, in all but the most formal sense. She insisted both the omega and beta deserved to indulge in every facet of the customary (and lengthy) triad courting ritual no matter how hurried their professional lives, so while she hadn’t moved into their larger apartment yet, the time for joining their pack was nearly at hand.

Clint jerked his head towards the entryway in invitation with a small smile. “I’d be a dummy to turn down an offer like that.”

Her eyes rounded. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean to invite myself into your bath, Clint!” But he caught the way she shuddered, fighting her Alpha instincts to care and fuss, lavishing him with affection and praise for a job well done. As a beta, Phil rarely hovered or relished in tending to Clint’s frequent injuries the same way Darcy could cluck and fret and pat and soothe, if he let her have her way. Not that he often let her see the worst of his injuries since she’d begun the gentle seduction of courting the beta and omega spy mates four months ago, but these injuries were too big to hide or miss, even with civilian eyes.

"Like I'd turn that down, either," he drawled, leading her deeper into the apartment.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked, following him across the open plan space and into the den off of the pack bedroom, eyeing the rumpled bedding tossed haphazardly in the corner of the sectional, leather sofa as she took the two steps down into the nest with reverence.

“What?” Clint glanced up from the basket as he set it on a low table to the side. He looked around, eyes finally landing on the mess he’d left in his hurry to answer the door. “No, umm, when my back aches like this, I…” he trailed off, gesturing toward the arrangement of the sectional with the pull-out sofa stretched out and pillows strewn everywhere. _His_ nest. He was nesting when she interrupted him.

“I’m so sorry.” Her face colored with shame. “I didn’t mean to drag you from your nest while you’re healing. I could tuck you back in?” she offered.

Clint blew out a long, slow breath and took the plunge. “Or you could join me?” He lifted one of the wood-backed brushes from the gift basket. “Scrub my back? I could use a hot soak. Phil's not really a bath kind of guy, but...” he trailed off, trying to stifle the nervous impulse to ramble explanations Darcy didn't need.

She took a deep breath and nodded, eyes darkening as her Alpha blood warmed to the task of tending her omega. “You have a bath in the other room?” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the sliding pocket doors to the master bedroom.

Shaking his head, Clint moved to a door anyone else would mistake for a closet at the back of the room. Opening it, he revealed a luxurious, tiled room clearly intended for social pack bathing. While Darcy likely had something similar, if smaller, in her own quarters in the Tower, Tony decked out all of the Avengers’ suites in the highest quality, most opulent, best of everything. Including spaces like this sprawling pack suite that served a single purpose: tending the physical and emotional needs of one’s mates.

Comfortable in his own skin, Clint started shedding clothes by the door, wincing when his shoulder spasmed as he tried to pull the T-shirt over his head, but then Darcy was there, steadying him, working the cotton jersey over his head and arm herself to keep him from stretching and pulling the muscle any further.

The butterfly kiss she pressed to his quivering muscle damn near brought him to his knees.

Her scent thickened in the deliberately warm space as, without prompting, Jarvis triggered a light, aphrodisiac steam only programmed to function when pack entered the room. The aphrodisiac was a special concoction formulated by Bruce, intended to heighten extant arousal and encourage relaxation in overworked super heroes.

Clint’s eyes dilated and he swayed on his feet until Darcy nudged him to take a seat on the warming bench beside the tub. He watched with growing affection for his Alpha as she turned on the taps, humming with pleasure when a dozen waterfalls of warm water emerged from beneath a lip around the edge of the large tub, rapidly filling it while she returned to the den to retrieve the lotions and potions and creams. She set it beside the tub and divested herself slowly of her boots and jeans and fitted blazer, drifting just a bit closer when Clint reached clumsily for the tails of her blouse and missed by a hair’s breadth. She lowered her hands, giving her omega his moment to return the favor paid him in the ancient give and take of preparing for a pack bath. He fumbled, but eventually slipped free each of the tiny, pearly buttons of her blouse, his skin heating when she let it slip from her shoulders to puddle on the floor at their feet. Eager, Clint tugged her by the hips to stand between his knees, sliding calloused palms from the generous flare of each hip to her lithe waist, marveling at the nervous quiver of her belly when his fingertips skated around her navel, tracking the contour up to the full cups of her bra.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss below her bellybutton, lingering over the thick cloud of Alpha scent enveloping them both.

“Same.” She smiled, kneeling to kiss him quickly without getting distracted to unbutton his jeans and help him shuffle out of them, one leg at a time. When the jeans joined her blouse on the floor, Clint reached for her again, ignoring his many aches and pains and lifting her off the floor to settle across his lap for easier access to her bra. She sighed in contentment at the feel of his arms banding around her, the warmth of his big hands working open the hooks at her back. She cupped his cheek and pulled him closer, laving a thick stripe of saliva across the scent glands beneath his jaw and laying the first of her ritual claims.

On Clint’s part, their positions soothed the oft-ignored omega instinct to allow others to dominate or shield or protect. Supporting his Alpha’s weight while she licked and kissed and soothed, it was easy to forget the biological function of his Alpha’s flicking tongue: stimulating his scent glands to produce an abundance of happy hormones: serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins.

Her fingertips lingered on his arms, testing their strength and grinning slyly when he flexed for her pleasure alone. Her fingers danced lightly down his forearm when he managed to finally unclasp her bra and pull at the straps. As the strap slipped from his fingers, she captured his hand and brought the inside of his wrist to her mouth. Drawing the tip of her nose across the skin covering his omega gland, she chased it with an eager tongue in gentle, kitten licks, pulling a purr of contentment from his throat.

“Purr for me, Omega,” she crooned, shifting to straddle his lap and reach for the other wrist as he peeled off her bra, revealing full, bottom-heavy breasts just begging for attention of their own.

But his wrists were bound in his Alpha’s hold while she worked her magic on his skin, so the omega waited on his Alpha’s leave to return the exchange of scent.

Eventually, she had her fill for the time being, instincts satiated, pheromone-drunk on the thickening omega scent filling the room. Possessive, but calm enough to finally submit, she closed her hands on either side of his throat and tilted her head, offering the softest part of her throat and self to her omega.


End file.
